Phineas and Ferb Chase the Dragon
by I Want My Slaw
Summary: Phineas and Ferb's trippiest adventures yet. Rated K-Plus for sex, drugs, and possible rock and roll.
1. ROLLercoaster

A/N: This is a satirical black comedy, guys. We know it's out of character, we know it's fucked up. That's the point. Enjoy.

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><p>We didn't mean for it all to happen. It just started with a simple question; it was just a tiny little moment completely beyond our control.<p>

"Marijuana? What in the bloody hell is that?" Ferb asked me.

"I dunno," I told him, "but Buford gave it to me and said that his dad wanted it gone quickly."

We both gazed at it again. Just sitting there in that insignificant little plastic baggy; such a strange substance.

We said we'd make every summer an experience, every day a story worth telling. Well somewhere deep inside my giant triangle head, I could tell this shit was worth a novel.

There are several ways to consume the stuff-bongs, joints, blunts, vapors.

We only had a brief internet search at our disposal so we ended up with a half-assed blunt made from a few leaves from the same old tree we always rely on for our daily adventures.

We both took turns. First Ferb. Then me. Then Ferb. And then me. Then Ferb. It was gone in minutes.

There's a lot of the names for the stuff. Weed, pot, Mary Jane, reefer, herb, grass, bud. Call it what you may, but this shit is god-damn paradise.

They call marijuana the gateway drug. And within one hit of the stuff, we could easily see why. The gates of heaven might as well have opened for us in that moment.

We sat back on that tree, our eyes glazed and our minds going in all directions. All the pressures of the world were lifted on us. Every moment seemed to be even more enjoyable than the last. It was pure euphoria.

Minutes later, still blazed out of our minds, we heard the gate open slightly. We were about to shit ourselves until we saw Isabella, asking the same question she has asked every other day this summer...

"Whatcha doooin'?"

One whiff of the air.

One look at my eyes, red as a fucking apple.

One cough from the smoke-filled air.

"What the hell _are_ you doing, Phineas Flynn?" She was getting increasingly angry, but for some reason, all I could possibly do was laugh my ass off.

"You know, Phineas...we haven't used it all yet." Ferb held up the rest of the baggie...it had definitely enough for Isabella.

We grabbed a few more leaves. We packed up the weed a bit and threw it into yet another makeshift blunt.

We lit it up.

"Just one hit, Isabella. One long, deep breath." I was ready to watch the greatest spectacle ever produced by man.

Isabella squirmed and screamed constantly, constantly telling us she was a good little Jewish girl and that good little Jewish girls didn't smoke.

We eventually forced the blunt into her mouth and plugged her nose until she had no choice but to take the biggest hit of her life.

Needless to say, she finished it in about two minutes.

High as a kite.

She could barely even move.

Her face was just as red as my hair.

And it was hilariously amazing.

All three of us sat around that tree. Changed human beings. Caterpillars who had become butterflies. Homeless people who won the fucking lottery. You could've lit us on fire right then and there, and we'd still be the happiest sons of bitches on the face of the earth.

Isabella stared fixated at a cloud. She said it looked like a pony. I said it looked like a face. We all laughed uncontrollably at that.

When you're high, life is one big stand-up special.

You think different when you get the stuff. You view things in some pseudo-logical bullshit where the world is one big question mark and you got all the fucking answers.

We had found something and we needed to share it.

"We've found something and we need to share it," Ferb said,

"Fuck yeah we do," I said.

"Haha…you said 'we'," Isabella laughed. She ruffled up her hair, making motorboat noises. The top of my mind stayed focused on what Ferb said, but the bottom sported a massive erection.

The feeling subsided, but the experience would stay with us forever.

Shit was about to get real.


	2. Let's Take a Hit

Isabella and Ferb had just noticed the two walking by as I darted out to get to them as quickly as possible.

"Buford! You pants-shitting cunt, where can we get more weed?" I practically threw myself at him, nearly knocking him down-which is a feat, considering he's so Goddamn fat.

"Hey, cool your shit, Dinner Bell!" Buford shouted frantically. "Wait, you tried some of the reefer my dad wanted to hide? You moron, you weren't supposed to smoke it! My dad's gonna kill me! And since he doesn't have any weed he'll actually have the energy to do so!"

"Wait, are we talking about cannabis-?" Baljeet said before I cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up, Baljeet."

"Alright, let's all calm down guys," Isabella said, all rationally as she and Ferb finally got their fine asses over to the driveway.

"Okay then. Guys, where can we get some more weed?" I tried to keep my calm for as long as possible, but I was starting to break. We needed some shit fast.

You don't get addicted to weed. Well you don't have to be addicted to pizza to want that shit when you're hungry.

"Well, um..." Ferb began to speak up, but he was interrupted.

Next thing you know, our fucking dad steps into the backyard, laughing his ass off, stumbling around, and carrying a plate of about twelve or thirteen slushee burgers. He was as stoned as a fucking brick.

"Fuck man, this is shite is bloody brilliant!" Lawrence said, gobbling down a slushee burger. I thought he was gonna fucking choke, he was laughing so hard as he wolfed that mother down.

Divine intervention bitches. God loves weed.

"Dad! Dad, are you fucking high?" I shouted to him, running as fast as I could downt the lawn. I always knew something was fucked with dad. No sober dude would name their son Ferb.

"Phineas, don't swear, you sod-fucking twat," Lawrence said with a mouthful of burgers. A pickle slithered out from his bottom lip, and he burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "I am so bloody high right now."

"Dad, do you have any more weed?" Ferb asked furiously.

"I don't know if my neck's so numb because I'm high or having a stroke!" Lawrence exclaimed randomly before wolfing down another slushee burger.

"DAD!" I shouted climactically. Hehe. Climax.

"Wh-wh-what is it, Phineas?" Lawrence said.

"Do you have any more weed on you?"

"Weed? Hah, I'm not high!" He paused, and then burst out laughing. "I am! I am! But no seriously, I'm out. Oh man, I shouldn't be high around you, Linda's gonna kill me...Pfft, whatever. Down we go, Mr. Jellybean!" He sent a slushee burger down his throat like a fucking rocketship. Why the hell did he call it a jelly bean?

"Ugh," I grunted, "now we gotta find another Goddamn person to get weed from." I crossed my arms and turned on my heals, shuffling away down the grass.

"Fucking useless as always, dad," Ferb quipped, knocking the plate out of Lawrence's hands and then storming away along with me.

"He doesn't have a dealer," he said. "He's got throat cancer, so he buys medical marijuana from the pot store in downtown."

"Medical marijuana...That's it! We'll give Baljeet cancer and get a prescription!" Phineas exclaimed.

"Perfect!" Isabella said gleefully.

"What?" Baljeet gasped. "I am not getting cancer just so you guys can get high!"

"Booo!" Buford booed.

"Douchebag," Isabella said, throwing a crumpled Slushee Burger wrapper at Baljeet's face.

"Go fuck a radiator, Baljeet," Phineas hissed.

"I'd suggest wearing a condom," Ferb said dryly. "You don't wanna get that bitch pregnant."

"...Ferb, it's a radiator."

Just then, Candace pulled into the driveway. She came into the backyard in her usual busting frenzy.

Baljeet, as usual, had a raging erection.

So, Candace looks at us and screams for a few minutes about God-knows-fucking-what, and we're just looking at each other, trying not to laugh our fucking asses off.

"Pot is bad," blah blah blah. "You guys have done stupid shit before, but this takes the cake," blah blah blah. "You guys look just like Vanessa's scumbag boyfriend, Johnny," blah blah fucking bl-wait a second, what?

"Wait, Johnny?" I blurted out, interrupting her bitchfest. "He does pot?"

"Well, duh, he's, like, stoned half the time. He always goes to Slushee Burger late at night with the munchies and Jeremy always ends up serving him like ten dozen fucking Slushee Tacos."

"Where's his house?" we all screamed in unison; except for Baljeet, who was too busy being a pants-shitting pussy.

"He lives in that shitty apartment complex downtown. The run-down one on Collins Street."

"Wait a second, isn't Gretchen working Collins Street today? Sweet, a score _and _a blowjob, all in one trip!" Today's gonna be fucking awesome.

"Phineas, you're still having her fucking blow you? I've been buying anal for the last six months, you twat. Get with the times."

"Besides, Phineas...you don't really need to pay _her_ to get a blowie when I know someone who'd be _glad _to give you one for free!" Isabella swooned at me. Like she thinks it hasn't been fucking obvious for years now. But hey, what's the use of getting a free blowie when you can just fuck with their minds for a bit?

"Anyways, let's go get that fucking weed. **HEY MOM! CAN YOU DRIVE US ACROSS TOWN?**" I'd take the car, but I'd end up just fucking crashing it into the ocean or something.

"Phineas, you horse-dicked cuntface, I'm not doing shit for you. I'm literally here just to beat the shit out of your crazy sister and then I'm outta here." Useless cunt. Well, I shouldn't say that. She at least puts my insane cunt of a sister in her fucking place.

"So, I guess our only option is walking. Fuck." Buford, that fatass...never wants to fucking exercise. Maybe if he wasn't ten years old and two hundred fucking pounds.

So, we decided to walk all the way across town. It looked sketchy as hell with us just laughing our asses off at all the fucking stupid billboards plastered all over the place. However, it just felt way too long. That twenty-minute-long walk just might've felt like a fucking eternity.

So we finally got to Collins. And of course, there Gretchen was, just whoring herself out to _**fucking everyone.**_ Seriously, we even saw the fucking mayor go into the motel with her. And this other creepy guy with a really huge nose. Like I'm one to talk.

So, after getting a quick threesome in with Ferb and Gretchen (that bitch is starting to fucking empty my wallet...never should've let Ferb convince me to buy thirty minutes of vaginal), we went inside the shady-as-fuck apartments and found Johnny's building.

Johnny's place isn't fucking hard to spot at all. Whole building is this brown-green color that just looks like somebody shat their pants and spewed their fucking nasty diarrhea all over this dumbass-looking apartment. It was probably Baljeet, that scrawny bitch. His ass is like a sewage plant in rural India. I did laundry for his sorry ass one day when he was sick and all of his underwear smelt like month-old curry. Fucking Baljeet. Why can't he just get cancer?

So we knock on Johnny's door. No answer.

We keep knocking. Still no answer.

We have Buford punch holes in the door until his hand is bloody as fuck. Still no fucking answer.

So, we just turn the knob and just fucking walk in. And of course, Johnny's just there, on the fucking floor, passed the fuck out with a heroin syringe sticking out from his forearm. He's pale as a motherfucker and his hair's all raggedy and shit. It's honestly fucking hilarious.

So we go over and check his pulse. Holy fuck, he's dead. Oh well, time to steal his shit.

So we look around some more. Buford finds some Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd posters up in Johnny's room and folds them up, stuffing them in his pockets because God knows he's poorer than a Hurricane Katrina survivor.

Isabella starts rumaging through Johnny's drawers and under his bed, and finds some condoms and vibrators from his girlfriend, Vanessa, that goth chick with tits like what-the-fuck. Isabella holds that shit up and winks at me. Goddammit. That bitch needs to take a hint.

Baljeet walks into the kitchen because Buford told him he was hungry and to get him some food-fucking fat-ass, I bet he already swallowed a whole hot dog stand on his way to my house earlier-and of course he does it. Baljeet's cock is so deep down Buford's throat it gets its mail fucking delivered there. But thank God for Buford's childhood obesity, because Baljeet stumbles upon some shit cooking in some pots. He tells me it's a meth lab, done by criminals and bikers and blah blah blah I stop listening, because I watch Breaking Bad as much as I get blown by Gretchen, so I know my shit.

Ferb doesn't find jack, though, because he's busy rolling up some world-record-holding blunts, bigger than my fucking dangerously huge triangle face. I grab one to smoke but he stops and tells me that these are for later. I'd be pissy because waiting is for pussies and the Chinese but thank fucking Moses because Ferb pulls out this gigantic-ass bong that Johnny had under his couch.

We move Johnny's body-and of course that crackhead weighs like 16 pounds-and start ourselves a Circle.

"So, Buford, why are we sitting in a circle like this?" I took a massive hit and laughed my fucking ass off. But the question still stands.

"I dunno. Saw it on a TV show once. Hey, Isabella, isn't this the point where we start fucking like rabbits and then I go upstairs and bang Candace for a while?" Like he knows how to even fucking work his dick. He can't even work his fucking colon right.

"Excuse me, but I'm saving my body for someone special." Isabella shot a quick glance at me. God damn it, bitch, learn to be fucking subtle for once!

"Isabella, it's only a matter of time before we all gangbang the shit out of you, so enjoy living in your fantasy world for whatever time you have left..." Baljeet...what a fucking joke. We all know that at the end of the day Buford just takes him upstairs and rams the shit out of that tiny little asshole.

"Baljeet, what a fucking jooke. We all know that at the end of the day Buford just takes you upstairs and rams the shit out of your tiny little asshole..." Ferb took a gigantic hit and passed it back to me.

"_Duuuude..._I just thought that exact same fucking thing to myself, man..." I took another hit from the bong and nearly coughed up a fucking lung. "Besides, Baljeet, we wouldn't be fucking with you this much if you just got cancer like we told you to...oh, and if you stopped shitting your fucking pants every two seconds."

Suddenly, Irving fucking showed up.

"Hey guys, what's going on? Oh, hey, you guys are smoking weed! That is so _awesome!_ Can I smoke with you guys? Oh my God, I'll actually be smoking pot with _Phineas and motherfucking Ferb!_"

"Chill the fuck out, Irving, and take a goddamn hit." I passed him the bong.

He ripped that shit for a good minute straight. When he exhaled, the biggest fucking puff of smoke just fucking spread throughout the entire fucking room. I mean, fuck. It nearly blinded all of us.

"You bitch, you didn't tell us you had that kind of lung capacity!" Fucker really was impressive, no matter how creepy he was.

"Well, I hope your ass..._pffft_...I hope your _ass_ has enough capacity for my _foot_!" He just fell onto the floor and laughed his fucking ass off after that. We all joined in. It was pretty fucking hilarious, after all.

After all was said and done, we got done with all of our blunts and the bong after about half an hour. It was fucking glorious. Still, I was compelled to stand up. To walk over. To check the closet for more weed.

But what I found was so much more than that.

_**I found the fucking goldmine.**_


	3. Hide and Snort

I walked back to my friends, and Irving, still basking in the afterglow. After all, we probably just smoked about five ounces altogether of really fucking good weed.

"You fuckers gotta check this shit out!" I was giddy as a horse that had just taken sixteen fucking Viagras. Except my boner was bigger.

"What is it, you sweaty isosceles dickhole?" Baljeet retorted. What a fucking joke.

"Well, Baljeet, you cuntwart, I just found some prime shit. And I'm not talking about weed this time."

"What is it, Phineas?" Isabella swooned at me. She must have noticed my raging erection. I could even hear her whisper to herself "please be lube, please be lube, please be lube..." It's not lube, and she's a desperate fucking bitch.

"It's not lube, you desperate fucking bitch." It really wasn't. Or was it? I don't even fucking remember anymore. I'm too high. I need some help right now. "Hey, Ferb, come take a look at this shit."

Ferb came over to the closet and took out the bin. In it...well, there was a shitload of powder. Looked like we could've made some delicious fucking doughnuts with this shit. But then, Ferb stuck his finger in and felt around a bit. After a few seconds, he started to giggle like Gretchen the first time she saw Baljeet's tiny dick.

"Cocaine. And really fucking good cocaine at that." Ferb took a bit of it, put it into his hand, and then snorted all of it into that gigantic fucking nose of his.

I decided to carry the bin over to the rest of the gang. And fuck, was it heavy. Probably weighed like fifty or sixty fucking pounds. I didn't even think that much cocaine fucking existed. In fact, with how sheltered we are in this silly fucking joke of a town, I'm still not sure I knew what the fuck cocaine even was. Still, of course, I felt obliged to just go ahead and prepare to blow the biggest line anyone had ever witnessed in the entire history of forever and shit. Yeah.

So I was sitting down, ready to completely dominate that line. I had gotten it all neat and shit, and I had it fucking on the floor and shit, completely ready for my nostrils to just completely anally violate that line's children. But then, I realized something.

Fuck, I don't have nostrils.

"Well, fuck. Turns out I can't do this. Anyone wanna take my place?"

"Well, look who's the so-called 'cuntwart' now! Well, you shit-eating cocksucker, I'll go ahead and show you how a real man does this shit!" He put his head above the line...and then he just started shoveling the fucking shit into his mouth! He literally ate the fucking cocaine.

"Um...Baljeet, you fucking idiot. What the fuck are you doing?" I just couldn't keep myself from being flabbergasted at his stupidity.

"Um...isn't this how you do cocaine?" No, Baljeet. It's not. And you're a fucking idiot.

"No, you fucking snort it. Not shovel it in your mouth like a fucking...uh, err...shovel. For such a genius, you sure don't know how to fucking /do/ shit, Baljeet!"

Buford immediately started chuckling. "I'll give him this: he's pretty good at sucking dick!" Then, of course, he burst into intense laughter. The rest of us were silent.

"Buford, do you fucking have Baljeet suck you off?" Didn't realize they were already doing that shit together. We figured Baljeet would be too pussy or something to do shit like that until he was fucking 40 years old.

"I thought you were just into butt stuff," Ferb said. "Jesus." Yeah, Jesus. Because he always spent his Friday nights blowing coke and little Indian boys...well, in between building wood and dying and shit. True story, actually. I think I read it in the book of Mormon or something.

Suddenly, Baljeet just started fucking convulsing everywhere. Looked like Baby's First Orgasm or something. Except fueled by cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine. He just started rumbling around the floor like a fucking epileptic. So, needless to say, we laughed our fucking asses off. But then, I had realized something.

"Guys...he's having a fucking seizure! He could die right now!" And that made us only laugh harder. And harder. And then we laughed so hard that we started to puke a bit.

Well, except Ferb. Like a boss, he just sat in the corner alternating between lines of coke and massive bong hits. It was fucking astounding. He just wouldn't stop. It looked like he was fully just ready to overdose on shit he had just tried. But after about three minutes of back-and-forth, he finally just fucking collapsed, moaning softly. Bitch must have been on fucking Cloud 9.

And then, something happened that made us all just completely stop dead in our tracks. The laughs were over. There was nothing funny left about the situation.

Baljeet had come out of his festival of seizures and now was completely fine. Fuck.

And then Irving got up and took some of the coke for himself. He prepared a line, and...bam. Finished it off like a boss. But then...well, I'm not gonna beat around the bush with this one. The obsessed motherfucker literally took off his pants, ran over to the corner, and jacked off furiously onto Ferb's face. Ferb, as high as he was, couldn't tell what the fuck was going on. At all.

Funny? Yes. Fucking disturbing? Also yes. Of course, that could be said for pretty much everything Irving does, so yeah.

So Baljeet finally gets Irving's tiny masturbating body off of Ferb, who is now just dripping with cum so he looks like a damn melted marshmallow. We get a bigass dufflebag that Buford just happens to have because, who the fuck knows, I'm so goddamn high right now, and we stuff all the drugs and bongs and rolling papers we can into there. Then we get ready to high tail it the fuck out of that rapist's wet dream of an apartment.

"But wait," Ferb says. How he talks with all that jizz in his mouth I have no fucking idea. "What about Johnny's body?" Fuck, he's right.

"Shit, yeah," Buford says. "Our finger prints are everywhere. They'll blame us if we don't dump the body. I'm not going back to juvie, man. My asshole can't be stretched out that much, man, it's just not natural."

So, ignoring the god-fucking-awful image of Buford's pudgy asshole getting penetrated by some twelve-year-old with Jacob's Syndrome that Buford kindly decided to get stuck in my head, I formulate a plan. Or, at least, I try.

"Okay, um, so, let's just...uh...um..." Fuck. My mind tries to think of some genius plan or some shit, but I just go fucking blank. I hadn't really thought about it, but smoking all that weed was starting to make me functionally retarded. Well shit.

"Uh, Phineas? You getting anything?" Isabella says with that stupid high voice of her's. Hehe. High.

Fuck, there I go again. Is my IQ dropping? Dropping like pants. Pants on the ground. Penis. Hehehehe.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ.

That's when I realize I've been standing there, red as a tomato, laughing like the goddamn Joker for like two minutes straight. "Um...my bad...hehehehe. Pfft, hehehehe. Um...we could smoke him?"

In hindsight, that might actually work, considering he was 90% pure fucking drugs. But it turns out Irving, that crazy little cunt, is way too high to realize that my high rambling bullshit is /not/ to be taken fucking literally, and suddenly, he's standing above Johnny's smelly, drug-adled corpse, lighting a fucking match.

"Irving, I'm high as balls. Stop listening to the shit I say and just jack off more or something." Might as well keep him occupied so he doesn't royally fuck us or anything.

"Okay!" And then the fucker goes back into his corner and starts jacking off in Ferb's face mo—

That fucking idiot threw the match.

That fucking idiot threw the match.

That motherfucking idiot threw the motherfucking match.

And now we have a flaming body in the center of the room. Well, this is just great. Here we were, just infusing our bodies with probably completely lethal doses of several different drugs, and then Irving just fucking burns everything. Shit. Fuck. God fucking damn it.

So, I came up with the most ingenious plan ever.

I picked up Baljeet and threw him right into the fire. Perfect. That fire's gonna be put out faster than Gretchen at her third birthday party.

Oh fuck, it didn't work. And now Baljeet's on fire. Meh, we have more important things to worry about.

"Come on guys, we gotta get out of here! Grab all the coke and weed you can!" I tried to get up, but I was too fucking high. I think some of our weed stockpile was burning and I was just breathing in all the smoke or something. I don't fucking know.

Then, out of completely fucking nowhere, Buford just stands up and walks over to the wall and walks back with some weird shit in his hand.

"You dumbasses realize you can just fucking put out the fire with this, right? You know, a fire extinguisher?" What a dumbass. That shit can't do shit.

Oh wait, it did. Well then...fuck. Buford actually did something worth a shit. I'm probably just hallucinating or something, though. He's probably really just burning to death with flaming shit in his pants or something.

So, we decided that it was probably a good idea to just get the fuck out of that apartment. We grabbed the bins of drugs and started to make our way out. We had enough coke, weed, meth, and other assorted shit to last us the rest of our lives. Or, enough to feed Baljeet three weeks of "dinner". Ah, dinner. Sweet, sweet, seizure-inducing dinner.

That's when it hit me: Baljeet was seriously hurt from those burns. He needed immediate medical attention. Thus, we chose the most logical course of action.

That is, we pushed him into one of the bins of coke. Drugs heal all wounds, motherfucker.

So, it was a long, perilous journey back to my house. Pretty sure I almost got molested, but fuck knows I'm way too high to be one hundred percent sure. Besides, even if I'm did I'm pretty sure Isabella would have thrown a steel Star of David into that bitch's fucking eye and then high tailed it out of there with her magical Mexican jumping powers.

Not to mention, it's sorta fucking hard to stay low key when passing by all the sorry, not-high motherfuckers when you're a gaggle of ten year olds carrying more coke than Charlie Sheen's fucking bell boy. We honestly looked like we were about to gangbang a ho at any goddamn second.

Speaking of Gretchen, she was suddenly with us. I guess she got off her shift at the street corner or something...heh, "got off". The bitch was walking with a fucking syringe prepared. That fucking whore doesn't understand what's right and what's wrong, does she?

"Hey, bitch, you don't just take our shit like that. You gotta be courteous and shit about it. Now suck my dick or I'm beating your face into the pavement." Isabella was so high, she started to get delusional. No way Gretchen would ever even consider not sucking her dick.

But of course, Gretchen happily fucking goes and tries to suck Isabella's dick, because God knows to that bitch giving head was fucking muscle memory. Now I really hope Isabella doesn't have a dick to be sucked, or else there are more things stopping her from getting some of my rock-hard triangle-shaped cock than me bait-and-switching her; but I never got to find out (thankfully? I don't fucking know actually, I'm pretty damn curious now). Because right then, Baljeet scurried the fuck out of the coke bin, covered head to toe (hehe, head...) in cocaine. Of course, he had shit himself, so he now had the appearance of Casper the Friendly 7/11 Cashier, with the uncomforting combined smell of curry/shit (they're basically the same anyways) and fire.

And of-fucking-course, his pants fall off right as he hurls himself onto the street, his flailing, tiny Indian dick flopping itself directly in front of those dick-munching bee-stings Gretchen calls her goddamn lips. And of course, it's been char-broiled for her, courtesy of Irving's trademark genius dumbassery. So Gretchen sucked Baljeet's well-done cocktail wiener of a penis, and he started to moan in intense pleasure. Wait, no, I'm starting to think he was screaming in pain. Yeah, definitely screams of pain. What a fucking ungrateful son of a bitch. We can't all get free blowjobs from Gretchen whenever the fuck we want. Oh well, I guess we can just chalk this up as yet another piece of evidence that Baljeet is afraid of vaginas.

So Gretchen gets herself a homestyle meal of grilled wiener, and Baljeet experiences his first orgasm that wasn't from getting hardcore buttfucked by Buford in the Wedgies locker room. Oh, God fucking dammit, I just thought of Buford pulling out of Baljeet, his dick all covered in santorum. Fuck, that's not leaving my mind for a while. Wait, what was I talking about? My head hurts. Turtles.

Oh, that's right. Blowies.

So, after he writhed on the floor, crying like a pussy for about six minutes (which was five minutes longer than it took for him to actually orgasm), we waited a few more minutes so we could all stop laughing our fucking asses off. We recover (well, not Baljeet; that bitch is gonna have some serious trauma for the next several years, and might have a possibly successful sexual assault lawsuit on his hands) and try and get our shit together again.

"Okay guys, seriously, watching Baljeet get raped is hilarious and hot and all..." Buford, no shit, says, probably sporting a raging hard on. "...but I'm starting to lose my high, and as a functioning drug addict for the past four hours, this is goddamned unacceptable. Let's get the fuck back to Philleas's place before I fucking kill someone."

"That's not his fucking name, you fucking retard. It's Trivaless. You're obviously not as sober as you think." Ah, leave it up to my step-brother to be an absolute fucking dumbass.

"Shut up, Phineas, before I fucking smoke your ear drum." Ferb. Ferb's the name you're looking for, you fucking fatass. And even when he's fucking high he can't up with good comebacks, that walking Slushee Meal. Wait, no, he isn't worth that much...Fuck, now I'm hungry again.

"Isabella, you're a fucking retard. You can't smoke ears. You can only smoke sausages. And by sausages, I mean Charles's dick. Mmm...Oh, and by 'smoke', I mean 'suck'." I'll assume she was talking to Buford (even though she herself is a fucking retard), and she just continued to fuck my name up even worse than Buford did. Am I the only fucking sane one here?

Actually, maybe I should change my name, like rappers and shit do. MC, um...Penis? Hehe. MC Penis. I'mma be a lyrical genius (holy Odin, my first rhyme) for real and, oh my Xenu, I am so fucking high right now. Jesus fucking Spaghetti Monster, the world is spinning. Baljeet or Buford or fucking Pinhead Pierre or whoever the fuck started all this name-gargling bullshit was right, we need to get home and smoke/inject ourselves with enough lethal shit to kill a horse with Parkinson's Disease and a trembling, raging erection.

What's with me and horse boners today?

Speaking of horse boners, we ended up getting back to our house with minimal injury. We hallucinated a lot along the way, and I'm pretty sure we battled a few fucking dragons and shit, but again, I'm so high that it'd probably be impossible to recollect said events anyways. Fuck it, I'll try, since I'm a nice guy and all.

…

Wait, no, it's all coming back to me now. We literally spent six hours screaming at cars and kittens. Well, that wouldn't be the first time Baljeet screamed at pussy today.

Well, besides that hilarious debacle, we got back to my place unscathed. We brought all of our bins in through the front door, and all of a sudden, my fucking mom shows up. Shit.

"Phineas, what are you doing with my sta—I mean, all of those drugs? Aren't you a little too young to go on a cocaine binge?" Well, at least she got my fucking name right. Wait, what the fuck was with the rest of that sentence?

"Yes, yes I am. But I'm also too young to tell you to go fuck yourself, but alas, here we are." I kicked her in the nuts and we ran into the basement with our shit. Yeah, she's gonna feel that for a while.

Wait, fuck, chicks don't have nuts. Well, this situation just went completely testicular.

So, she just fucking chases us. Guess I shouldn't have cunt-punted her. We're fucking cornered with nowhere to go. She's right the fuck in front of us. Fuck, shit, we're so _busted_.

"Phineas, Ferb, all you other sons-of-bitches, you are so _busted_!" My mom was starting to look kind of displeased with our actions. Or maybe just mine. But that's beside the point. The bitch just said what I was thinking. No one fucking does that except me. And maybe Ferb...and Isabella...and sometimes Buford...nah, fuck Baljeet...maybe that one guy down the street that one time...Fuck it, I don't give a shit anymore.

All of a sudden, though, something weird as fuck happened. We fell down a trap door that took us through this swirly-as-fuck slide. I swear, this shit made me dizzier than Gretchen after staring at Meatspin for eight hours straight. Well, what the fuck ever, at least it got us away from my fucking mother.

So, we finally landed into this one room. I think I've been here once before, but again, that could just be the drugs talking. It's high-tech as fuck. A bunch of huge control panels and this huge-as-fuck TV with some guy with a retarded unibrow and an awesome mustache just blabbering about nothing on it. And then, I'm pretty positive this was the drugs, but the guy just starts getting all frantic and shit and starts talking to us. It was trippy as fuck, bro.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. All of a sudden, Perry fell into the room, wearing a fucking hat, I shit you not. The unibrow fucker started to say some shit I couldn't understand, and then my fucking platypus jumped into a jet car and fucking flew it out of there. I'm not sure if I'm even sane anymore.

All of a sudden, the TV goes blank. The sudden realization hits me: we're the only fucking ones in here.

"Guys, I just realized something. We're the only fucking ones in here." Fuck, Isabella, what did I just think to myself ten minutes ago?

"So yeah, drug circle time?" Ferb knows what's up.

We all agreed. It was time. Time to go fucking crazy in this secret fucking paradise of a room.


	4. TriStoned Area

**"Tri-Stoned Area"**

"So, no one here is concerned in the slightest that your fucking platypus just fucking skidaddled out of here?" Baljeet stated his discomfort, instead of shoveling more cocaine into his mouth. Stupid cunt's starting to learn. Fuck, and I was just about to call Saul for the funeral celebrations. Heh, "a high-pork-pork and a deedle-deedle-deedle!" That guy sure knows how to make any party awesome. Maybe I should get him as my lawyer.

"Baljeet, you're just seeing things. By the way, why aren't you eating any cocaine? We found the edible shit. You should try it; it gets you _really_ fucking high! Like, as high as my fucker of a step-brother's dad on any given day of the week!" Come on, this shit has to work.

"Phineas, stop trying to kill the kid. I'm not a motherfucking necrophiliac. Well, except for that one time with that grandma at the pawn shop..." And that's when we finally figured it out: Buford actually liked vaginas. Holy fuck. That's some M. Night Shyamalan-type twist right there. Except there's no dirt under my feet. Unless there is. Again, I'm way too fucking stoned to tell.

"So, Phineas, I say we actually sell some of this stuff. I mean, there's no way we're going to actually finish this goddamn stockpile..." Ferb inquired, with that totally awesome dick of his. I mean, wit. Yeah, wit. I love his wit so much. Especially when he shoves it in my mouth.

"Challege accepted, bitch!" And then, Isabella just started doing fucking everything. Like, she started snorting a shitton of coke-coated meth, taking huge bong rips every four seconds, and I think she even fucking mainlined something. Whatever, as long as it keeps her off of my dick.

So, while Isabella was stuffing her face with a good amount of our supply, we looked for an escape route. Like we even know where this fucking place is. Could be under the fucking White House for all we fucking knew, right where Obama kept all his copies of Exquisite Negro Posteriors Monthly. Damn, if I had a nickel for every time I got off to-uh, the ads. Yeah, the ads. Fuckin' Trident Layers and shit. Makes me cream so hard every time.

* * *

><p>What the fucking fuck was that shit? Why the fuck were Phineas and those other fuckers back there? I can't afford for them to find this shit out again! I already fucking bribed Monofuck to zap their minds instead of taking me away, and that cost me a fucking day's salary. Fuck, this job is too annoying for me to put up with. I'd quit, but I can't fucking speak English. Also, I need the money for whores. That sexy-as-fuck beaver at Lyman's Pet Shop especially. There is no beaver like a fucking beaver's beaver, I fucking swear.<p>

So, my mission. Doofenfuck is at it again, apparently. He bought a lot of bleach. Like, a lot of it. I have no idea what he's doing with it. Maybe he's going to mop the fucking shit out of the Tri-State Area. And then somehow make it seem evil, or even more likely, relatable to his fucking life. Seriously, that German-ass fudge packer is so wrapped up with that bullshit that he can't see my obvious attempts to fuck the shit out of him. Seriously, am I really that fucking hard to read?

Oh hey, I'm fucking here already. Oh well, let's get this shit over with.

_Doofenshmirtz Evil Incor-_

NO, FUCK THAT SHIT. If I have to hear that god-fucking-damn jingle of his, that he thinks is so fucking clever and fucking catchy and shit, one more cocksucking time, I'm gonna burn down an orphanage and then shove all the fucking burnt corpses up some fucking Fireside Girl's coochie. Won't be the first time that cunt Gretchen got something fucking mushy and black shoved up her humongous gaping vagina. Fucking whores. I fucking hate humans. I need to get some platypussy.

"Ah, Perry the Platypus. Your entrance was so...un-something. And by 'something', I mean, **_COMPLETELY SOMETHING_**!...Ah, Perry the Platypus, sorry for my lack of creativity today. It's just that I just ate a few strudels Vanessa made me with her boyfriend, Johnny. You remember him, don't you? Really-really nice fellow; a tad greasy, but hey, I like him, he reminds me of myself back in my...crazy grunge phase when I lived in Seattle, and I doubt he's a trouble-maker, o-or anythng... Any-anyways, ever since I ate those, I've felt really lazy and uncreative lately. So...as a result, I came up with these blueprints!"

Those blueprints look like shit. What the fuck is this shit he's making this time?

"It's a machine that removes any harmful additives or chemicals that alter the state of the brain! I call it the 'Brain-Curer-Thingy...Inator.' Yeah, I need to fix the name. I just feel so...lazy right now. I can't explain it; it's like I just want to lay down forever. Anyways, I managed to get this machine mostly finished, so just don't thwart me for a little while, okay, Perry the Platypus?"

The fuck? Is he really that fucking lazy that he won't even trap me this time? I'm just gonna walk forward a few steps to make fucking sure this guy hasn't gone completely fucking bonkers.

Oh, well; yeah, there's the trap.

"Haha, Perry the Platypus, you've been trapped! You like it? It's a cage...with a lock! Anyways..."

And now I have to sit around for twenty minutes listening to him blabber on about nothing, until he finally finishes the machine. I'd stop him, but I get paid by the hour, and I'm not about to take a seven-thousand dollar pay cut. My fucking owners might get suspicious. Speaking of which, I hope they didn't fucking find any of my shit. If they touched my platy-sex doll, they're going to fucking **die**.

* * *

><p>"Ya know guys, I'm starting to think maybe we shouldn't finish all these drugs in one sitting," Buford said-and because that fat son of a twat just <em>loooves<em> contradicting himself-while smoking five joints at fucking once. And I bet you my left nut in three seconds fucking Isabella is gonna turn to me and try to "subtly" demonstrate how she can fit even more phallic objects into that black hole-sized mouth of hers.

...Nothing? Fuck, I don't wanna lose that nut. I love that nut.

"Oh hey, Phineas, look at me! I'm about to smoke twelve joints at once!" There it is; I knew that bitch was too predictable.

Fuck, that was my imagination. Am I really going to fucking lose my nut?

Oh. She's passed out on the floor. Guess I gotta just accept my fucking fate and chop that bitch off. Let me just grab a knife. Pretty sure I saw one lying around.

"Phineas, what the fuck? Stop losing bets with your internal monologue and help me carry this fucking shit out!" Looks like Ferb found a way out of this...whatever-the-fuck.

"Buford, you fat fuck, stop getting more stoned than a Muslim rape victim. We have work to do. And Baljeet, if you're gonna shit your pants, at least die while doing so, bitch." Needless to say, I got a simultaneous "fuck you" and literally about forty seconds of hysterical laughter. And then they started to smell up the joint. With their shit. It was gross.

So, we started to carry out the bins of miscellaneous drugs through some random elevator we found. We pushed a random button to get to the top, and wouldn't you know it, we got back to our fucking living room. Seriously, I'm just fucking shocked that we have that shit down there. Not like my fucking braindead parents would ever notice. Especially Lawrence. Fucking lightweight.

Then I realize we forgot this big thing of coke that I stashed in one of the corners behind that big-ass plasma screen so that Baljeet wouldn't fucking eat it all. So I head on back down, and wouldn't you fucking know it, right in the middle of the fucking room is Irving making sweet, passionate love with some fucking platypus-shaped sex doll. The boner I received shall confuse me for the rest of my years. Seriously though. That fuck doll was probably filled with more platy-jizz than my mother's pussy that one time. Weekends blow.

"Dude, Irving, what the actual fuck? That's not fucking cool! That's just straight up fucked, man!" I ran over to him, pissed. "You're gonna get cum all over the fucking coke, dude! Don't be a jerk." Then I sauntered the fuck out of there and left Irving to fufill his weird, marsupial-based wet dream.

So, we finally got all of the drugs back into my living room. I woke Isabella up, just because I needed her to go get her Fireside Cunts so they could all give me some advertising. Drugs don't peddle themselves, you know.

"Yeah, sure, I'll get the Girls. By the way...Phineas, you wanna see something cool?" Then she took a random bong laying around and stuck the entire thing in her mouth.

Fuck you, inner monologue. I win. But wait, isn't this my inner monologue? Shit, I'm getting all fucking existential again. Or whatever the word is.

"Isabella, we don't have time to watch you jam things you wish were my penis down your throat. Get your cronies so we can make fat stacks...bitch." Fuck yeah, just call me Jesse Pinkman.

So, while Isabella got those Cunts to work, Ferb and I got some wood together and started working on them with our tools. Doing this in the hot summer sun caused us to get really fucking sweaty. I'm suprised Ferb didn't hurt me at all while we were doing it...I mean, he's still probably stoned as fuck, and he's three inches away from me with a hammer in his hand. And by "_hammer"_, I actually don't mean "_dick"_ this time. But I totally wish I did.

And all of a sudden, while the rest of us are all hard at work doing our shit, fucking Baljeet, in his charred stupor, is just sitting there.

"The fuck, Baljeet? Just because you've got severe burns all over your body doesn't mean you can fucking slack off like that!" I threw a rock at his forehead. Bitch somehow got right back up and started walking towards the totally impromptu band setup that was in the middle of our fucking backyard for some reason. Bitch, this ain't the time for music.

Oh, shit, is it already 4:17? Fuck, guess it is time for music. Ugh, let's get this over with.

So, I walked over to the drum set. And...fuck, the seat's covered in shit. "Buford! You fat fuck, is this your shit? It smells like Evander Holyfield's dick, for Christ's sake!" Man, that shit smelled worse than the fucking gangrene growing from that fucking ear wound...

Hmm...bass? No, fuck that. Isabella'll just look at my fingers moving up and down and fucking cream herself or something. Keyboard? No, Baljeet's writhing all over that already...probably already covered in charred skin or stained with shit or something. Jeez, I need to fucking decide before we get star-eh, fuck it, I'll just scream into the microphone like I'm the guy from fuckin' Limp Bizkit or something.

_This song's about, selling drugs_

_And doing them too, 'cause we don't give a fuck_

_We've got Ferb on the guitar, and Irving's jizz on his face_

_Probably could've cleaned it off, guess he likes the taste_

_'Bella's on the Sybian, look it up if you want_

_We're gonna give you time, you fat son-of-a-cunt!_

_..._

_Yeah, we know it's not an instrument._

_..._

_I said one, two_

_I know what we're gonna do_

_We're gonna be a phenomenon_

_These drugs be sellin' like Pokemon_

_And maybe if they pay enough, we'll send 'em a fuckton!_

_..._

_And a three, four_

_Now Gretchen's more of a crack whore_

_The 'rents'll make a killing selling at the antique store_

_But if you don't pay up, then we'll show you the door_

_It's made of fuckin' mahogany, ain't that fuckin' hardcore?_

_..._

_This song's about, getting high_

_And we don't really care, 'cause our brains are fucking fried!_

_We've got a char-broiled Indian having sex with the drummer_

_Guys, get back on your instruments, you've been fucking all summer!_

_We've got bricks and we've got mountains 'cause it's the money we're baggin'_

_All you do is give us money, then you're chasing the dragon! _

_..._

_But not a real dragon. It's a metaphor for drugs._

_..._

_I said five, six_

_We're countin' all the dicks_

_That go in Gretchen's mouth, just so she can get her fix_

_We've got a brand new product, forget about the quotients_

_With all the shit we got, we're feeling brand new emotions_

_..._

_I said seven, eight_

_I'd say it's getting late_

_I've gotta end the song and let my keyboardist masturbate_

_But stay the fuck tuned, 'cause we're just getting started_

_Rule the Tri-Stoned Area, gonna make 'em retarded!_

_..._

_This song's about..._well, you get the point. Pandas and shit. Back to business, motherfuckers!

"Mff...mff...mff-mff-**mfff**!" What the fuck was that noise?

"What the fuck was that noise?" I'll speak my mind if I want to. "Dicks." Yeah.

"Well, aside from that last comment, that was Gretchen, mouth stuffed with dicks, asking why you kept mentioning her and her sluttiness." Ferb knows her too fucking well...

"Damn, those two spend more time together than me and my poster of Johnny Depp with the dildo taped to it...wait, am I saying this out loud? Fuck, I have to keep to my inner monologue more." Not like Ferb hasn't joined me in a little bit of Edward Scissoring-My-Butthole from time to time. We share a fucking room for Christ's sake. "Boat-bed sex is the fucking best, by the way. We're fucked if my cunt of a mother installs a blacklight in there, though." Fuck, why do I keep saying these things out loud?!

"Phineas, can you please stop talking about your odd sexual escapades in front of your friends and get back to selling your drugs?" Fuck, that was my mom. That sucks...wait, how did she know about that last part?!

"No, please, keep going..." Isabella moaned. I fucking refused to see where her fingers were going. Bitch needs to fucking stop and take the hint that I'm never fucking her. At least not for a few more chapters, anyway. Wait, fuck, did I just break the fourth wall? Uh...hi, reader. You're fucked up, by the way. You're reading some majorly fucked shit. At least it's not _Jeremy Helps Isabella_ though.

"It seems as though the fourth wall has been broken. Shit, give me a second." And then Ferb just fucking fixes it. Damn, he's good. And sexy.

* * *

><p>And, Doofenfuck's machine's finally fucking finished. Like I give half a shit. It'll take like thirty seconds to walk over there and push the self-destruct button anyway...Oh, right, there's a backstory I need to be paying attention to or some shit.<p>

"So then, my dad pulled out and put in his fist. It kinda hurt, but at the same time, you've gotta appreciate the man's ability to just punch his way in there. Anyways, Perry the Platypus, _that's_ how I lost half a foot's worth of large intestine."

...

"What? It happens a lot in Gimmelschtump!"

...

"At least say something, Perry the Platypus!"

Fucking son of a bitch, I can't fucking talk! Why the hell would you ever think that I would ever want to hear shit like that? How fucking high _are_ you, you fucking foreign piece of twat?! Ugh. Anyway, let's get this over with.

So, is there any way out of this fucking cage? Hmm...oh, yeah. He's high as balls.

"Grk-rk-rk-rk-rk-rk-rk-rk." Let's see if this works on the fucking dumbass.

"Do you need food, Perry the Platypus? Here, I'll let you out and we'll get a Slushee Burger or something." Doesn't he fucking realize I can't eat anything other than my fucking gross-as-shit platypus food?!

Then he fucking unlocks the cage and lets me out. Perfect, now I'll just walk over an-did he just fucking pick me up? Fuck no, he didn't just pick me up. That bitch just fucking picked me up!

"All right, Perry the Platypus. Let's go get ourselves some dinner!" Yeah, maybe when you're done fucking massaging my asshole with your fucking clammy-ass fingers! It's like when Phineas and Ferb played doctor when they were six and gave me a fucking platypus prostate exam. But since those kids are fucking Autistic little Einsteins they actually gave me a proper examination and I fucking found out I had prostate cancer. Oh well, that's all behind me now. All behind me and in my fucking prostate. Ugh. This cunt better let me super size at this fuckhole. And that doesn't fucking mean "give me an erection"...although it'd be fitting. It's funny because I'd totally be on top.

Well, looks like he's not going to be doing much evil for a while. Again, I get like fifty thousand dollars if I just wait and do nothing...haha, stupid fucking government agencies and their stupid fucking loopholes...

* * *

><p>Ah, life's been so nice for the fifteen minutes we've been operating the Phineas and Ferb Drug Hut Exfuckaganza. The feeling I get seeing people lined up like this to try out our products, only to come out hopelessly addicted..."It's almost as fucking orgasmic as that time I gave Perry that platypus prostate exam. Cancer gets me off so fucking hard..." Fuck, I said that out loud. People are staring. Shit.<p>

And wouldn't you know it, out of the corner of my eye, I see these bright lights. Pretty awesome...are people turning this shit into a party? I could go for a good party right now. Wait, people are screaming. Fuck, I hate those kinds of parties. Oh well, better go and meet these party animals.

So, I walk over there, brick in hand, like a fuckin' champion. "Hey, guys, what's going on? Sick car, by the way. Want some coke? This shit is the fucking _bomb_." Yeah...that's some effective fuckin' marketing right there. I'm totally like a cross between the Oxy-Clean dude and the Sham-Wow dude. Coked out all the time and constantly punching hookers in the face...but enough about Gretchen, I've got coke to peddle.

"Um...you do know that we're trained police officers, right?" Heh, that's fucking hilarious. Cops! Like those fuckers even exist. We've done tons of illegal shit out in the open; nobody gives a fu-wait a second, didn't I see these guys stuffing their fat fucking faces with Slushee Burgers the other day? Holy shit, they_ are_ the fucking cops!

"GUYS...COPS...RUN FOR YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIVES." I fucking screamed as loud as I could. Of course, I'm pretty sure that's what everyone else was screaming too...shit, we're fucked. Well, I guess that's why you don't do drugs, kiddos.

"Wait a second, Fuckface. I've got this." Where the fuck did Buford come from? And my name's Phineas, you Goddamn son of a sh-Is that a gun?

"Buford, how long have you been fucking carrying that thing?" Seriously, that's fucking psycho. I get that his parents alternate between beating and raping the shit out of him on a daily basis, but fuck, man, that's just overkill. Unless it's just to shoot Baljeet in the face. Then it's_ totally_ justified. But seeing as Buford wants to fucking pound his curry-soaked asshole 24/7, there's really no use in having a fucking gun all the time, unless he wants to fuck him in the bullet hole or some kinky shit.

"Eh, about the last...wait a second." Then he just fucking shoots the cop in the head. And then he puts two more bullets in the cops in the cars behind him. Fuck. "Eh, about the last seven years or so. What's it to you?"

"Buford, you just fucked us even further! The hell is wrong with you? You don't just kill people while we're running a fucking multimillion-dollar drug ring!" Seriously, save it for when we do the carnival...

"It doesn't matter, man! All the rest of the police force, lawyers, et cetera are all high as balls on our product!" And then he points to old fuckin' Mayor Doofenshmirtz snorting a line off of Marty the Rabbit Boy's furry-as-fuck ass. And then fuckin' Judge Garrett snorted some crystal meth and just fucking started punching like seven people in the balls as hard as he could. Shit, bro. We could literally start another fucking Holocaust and no one would give a shit...wait, is that Evander Holyfield fucking my mother?! Jesus Christ, man, that's just fucking awesome. I could be fuckin' half-brothers with Evander Holyfield's bastard child. I'd be all like, "Hey bro, guess what?", and they'd be like "What, MC Penis, Lord of All That Is Drugs?", and I'd be like "I've gotta babysit my fuckin' half brother today, that's what! Fuckin' Evander Junior. Yeah, he's sexier than your baby, and he doesn't even have a full fucking ear! Who knew that shit was genetic?! I make a living selling drugs now, not fucking making Punnett squares and stupid shit like that! Fuckin' biologists." Yeah, that's exactly what I'd say. Word to your fucking mother.

"Well, then...let's keep this shit going!" Yeah, who gives a fuck...I'll just give the dead bodies to Perry. He might be hungry later, and platypus food is way too fucking expensive. Pretty sure that shit is just dead little Taiwanese kids anyway. Can't fucking trust shit in those cans, yo. Fuckin' children meat. I'm sure there's a fuckin' curry flavor out there that's just the ground-up remains of Baljeet's siblings or something. Or a kosher version that's just pre-cooked Garcia-Shapiro...wait, I'm starting to ramble. About my friends' probably-nonexistant dead siblings. I should probably get back to my drug empire before some shit whisks it all away or something like it does every other fucking day of the summer...

So I figure now is as good a time as fucking any to take one of those badass overlooking money shots they have in like Scarface and shit like that where I just gaze upon and probably jack off a bit at my unstoppable drug empire. So I do so on my backyard patio. It takes some fucking balls to just do that all out in the open and shit. Oh, god, this feels better than usual. Maybe it's all the crack. What the fuck, I'm feeling something wet and Gretcheny. Why the fuck is my penis in and around Isabella's mouth?! Holy cuntnipples, this bitch is giving me a blowjob!

"Isabella, the fuck are you doing? You don't just interrupt a man while he's jerking off to a bunch of people getting high as balls!" Seriously, that's gotta be _somewhere_ in the Bible. Like, I'm pretty sure it's the fifth commandment or something.

"Phineas, I've been keeping this a secret from you for the last seven years or so, but...well, I love you!" Bitch, you call that keeping a secret? I'm pretty sure my fucking great aunt Gertrude has known that for like six years now. And she's been dead for the last nine. Fucking bitch had it coming. Seriously, you don't just have the name Gertrude and _not_ get hit by a fucking train. Wait, shouldn't I be saying something?

"Well, what made you think that warranted a fucking surprise blowjob?! Get the fuck away from me and eat some coke or something. The edible shit's in the back." Didn't work on Baljeet before, but maybe Isabella's retarded enough to fall for it.

"Fine! Just don't expect me to come crawling back when you're in desperate need of some odd sexual favor and have no more money to give to that filthy whore, Gretchen!" Bitch, I'm running a fucking drug empire. I'm fucking rich as shit. Or, at least I might be. I don't have time for fuckin' counting and shit. Also, as if I even have to pay for sex with Gretchen anymore. Actually, I'm pretty fucking sure Gretchen hasn't even been concious in the past twenty four hours. Oh, well, that just means people are gonna be going after her like it's fuckin' Black Friday until she comes to. Me? I'll just get back to jerking it to this wonderful paradise I've built today...wait, this isn't _my_ dick...

"Oh, hey, Ferb, how's it going? Enjoying the empire and stuff? Oh, and you really should spit out Irving's hour-old cum and stuff." And then he fucking swallows it. What a fucking boss.

"It's all pretty nice, I'd say. But hey, I found some crazy shit in the back of Johnny's stash. Acid, man. We could drop acid. Right here in the middle of the backyard." Sounds like a plan. Better get the rest of our crew together for this shit.

So, we huddle into a circle in the middle of my family room, with three hits of acid each. Totally fucking ready for this.

"So, ready to have even more of the best day ever, everyone?" I know I am. Man, even when extremely coked out, I always say the same shit.

"Ugh, fine. But just know that I'm not doing this for you, asshole." Wow, Isabella's getting fiesty. That's a change of pace.

"What's in this, by the way?" Fuckin' Baljeet and all his retarded questions. Like I'm supposed to fucking know. Oh wait, I do. But I'll just lie to him to fuck with him a bit.

"Um...curry. Lots and lots of super-concentrated curry. So much that it gets you high, man. Chow down!" Come the fuck on, he has to fall for this one...okay, I didn't expect him to grab fifty hits from the bin, but it's fine by me!

"Okay, everyone, first hit on three. One...two..." This is the most I've heard Ferb talk in fucking forever. Is it all the coke or something? "Three." We all took a hit of acid...I wonder how this is gonna be. It better not suck, or else I'll be pi-

**Woah.**


End file.
